


maybe shake a tambourine

by sapphoslover



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Non-binary Melanie King, Other, T4TMA Week (The Magnus Archives), Trans Georgie Barker, melanie is in a band, more details in notes, not in detail, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphoslover/pseuds/sapphoslover
Summary: In the throes of leftover grief, Melanie looks for, and finds happiness in the shape of one Georgie Barker.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: t4tma week 2021





	maybe shake a tambourine

**Author's Note:**

> in this fic, melanie is an enby lesbian on t and uses they/them pronouns. georgie is a bisexual trans woman. melanie briefly mentions the death of their dad throughout the fic but nothing is in detail. if u think i need to tag smth else, lmk!!
> 
> THIS is my contribution for day 3 of t4t tma week for the prompt 'au' and 'touch'!
> 
> hope u enjoy!! xx

The London air outside is just a little grim, even during festivity, but inside the air moves with barely restrained conversation and smell of sex and it is the closest to home Melanie thinks they’ll ever know. It’s their first show since they started t some 6 months ago, and despite the fact that Melanie will never say it, the they/them pronoun pin on their jacket next to the lesbian pride flag badge brings as much fear of potential backlash as it does comfort. But Melanie is nothing if not resilience and perseverance down to their very bones, and two women next to them who would like nothing more than to throw down with anyone who so much as says something that Melanie doesn’t like. They are grateful for Basira and Daisy, though they’ll never say it. 

“You good?” Basira says, her voice tinged with scarcely held enthusiasm and it makes something like excitement rise in Melanie’s gut. 

“Yeah, it’s a good crowd.” 

Basira nods, fiddling with her guitar and the familiarity of it all makes Melanie’s hands shake, only for a second, and Basira catches it, Melanie knows, but she doesn’t say anything, touches Melanie’s hand with hers for a second and Melanie laughs, despite themselves, it’s a little hoarse, but it’s there, present in a way that's been hard to come by for a while. 

“Your dad would be proud of you.” Basira says, with the subtle casualty she says things that make Melanie fill up with grief and hope and they thank Basira for it, silently. 

“It's time,” Daisy says over the hum of the crowd, over the hum of Melanie’s own heartbeat.

Basira kisses Daisy and Melanie looks on at the crowd as they step closer to the mic, feeling the adrenaline of it all in their veins, the thrum of the ground beneath their feet as if it’s something new, as if it's anything but what it is. 

⸺

After their set is over, Melanie feels alive in a way they don’t quite know what to do with, it flows through them strong as electricity and they feel it in their veins, strumming like their guitar strings. Daisy wraps an arm around their shoulder and Melanie leans into it, into Daisy’s warmth.

“It was a great set.” Daisy says, which is visible in the way the crowd is buzzing, in the way Melanie’s heart or whatever is left of it seems to be soaring.

“You did good,” Melanie says, raises her voice to reach Daisy where she’s stood packing up their things, “both of you.”

Daisy nods, grins, all sharp teeth and gentle eyes, tenderness in the way she carries her hands, in the way she touches Basira, in the way she lets herself be touched by Basira. 

Melanie smiles back at her, continues keeping their guitar back in its case and as soon as they’re done, they look up, eyes falling on the two people conversing with Basira animatedly next to the bar. Melanie’s eyes get stuck to the person with long hair, flowing like midnight up to their waist, and their breath gets stuck in their throat.

“Daisy,” Melanie says, hurrying up to Daisy as they both leave the stage, making their way through the crowd, “who are those people talking to Basira?” 

Daisy looks at Melanie, something like disbelief in her eyes, “that’s Jon and Georgie, you know them.”

“I don’t! I would’ve— remembered.” 

“Jon is Basira and my partner. You’ve met him.”

“Oh,” Melanie says, now recognising Jon as they reach closer, “yeah, yes, I know Jon of course but who’s Georgie. I do not know a Georgie.”

“Georgie used to run the support group for trans women that Basira and I used to go to in Edinburgh. She and Jon stayed with us for a few days a while back. You’ve met Georgie.”

Melanie remembers then, suddenly, meeting Georgie, a week after their father’s funeral. Melanie’d thought her beautiful then and they think her beautiful now. They hadn’t talked much, to each other, Melanie still trying to keep themselves afloat with all the leftover grief surrounding them like ashes and hadn’t found it in themselves to hold a conversation. 

“I met her after dad’s funeral.” Melanie says, voice low, careful.

“Yeah,” Daisy replies, soft, soft, and Melanie could come apart with it.

“She’s beautiful.”   


“That she is.” Daisy grins, “come on.”

“Hey,” Basira sings as they reach them and Melanie looks, clearly, at Georgie. She glows, in the dim orange of the bar, and it makes Melanie’s breath stick in their throat, makes any words they would have spoken collapse on their tongue, their chest expanding with the joy that exudes from Georgie’s existence.

Jon kisses Basira and hugs Melanie and through it all Melanie finds their eyes unable to leave Georgie, the only relief being that Georgie’s eyes stayed fixed on them, something like familiarity in the way Georgie keeps looking, like being seen by the only person that could ever matter and Melanie wonders what would have happened had they spoken to her the first time they’d met her, if Georgie would have seen through all the waves of anger and grief that had stuck to Melanie like weeds. 

“Melanie King.” Melanie says.

“I know,” Georgie replies, eyes brighter than any fire, than any sun, “I’m Georgie. Georgie Barker.”

Melanie thinks, if there’s one moment they could live in for the rest of this life, it would be this one, with Georgie’s eyes on them, only on them, the world around them not mattering for much except the soft sounds of the next band playing and the loud thump of Melanie’s own shattered heart in their ears.

“We have anniversary dinner reservations so we need to leave,” Basira says, grabbing Daisy and Jon’s hands, “you guys gonna be fine?”

Georgie smiles, bright and sharp, tender, somehow, “Of course. Happy anniversary, darlings. Have a lovely time.” She kisses the three of them on their cheeks, and Melanie wonders what her lips would feel like, if they’d feel anything like redemption.

Jon hugs Georgie, then Melanie, says, “Try not to get bored with this one.”

“Are you talking to Melanie or me?” Georgie says.

He grins, feral in a way that reminds Melanie of Daisy, “both.”

“Fuck off, Sims.” Melanie says, but they’re laughing, and Jon is grinning, all bright teeth in the dim light of the bar and Melanie loves him, loves all of them, as much as they’re capable of doing so.

Georgie blows a kiss to them as the three of them leave, waving their goodbyes, mouths twisted with Joy and something in Melanie’s chest aches, aches, and they let it. 

“You were really good.” Georgie says, turning her face towards Melanie, she’s leaning on the bar, slightly, her hands folded in her lap and Melanie finds themselves stuck on the lilac nail polish on her nails, standing out like the first spring flowers on her dark brown skin and Melanie wants to take her hands in their own, just to know that they’re real. 

“Thank you.” Melanie replies, voice just a little unsteady.

“All of you were, but you also, specifically. You wrote them, didn’t you?”   


“The songs?”

“Yes,” Georgie replies, pulls the olive from her drink into her mouth, eyes still intent on Melanie and it goes straight between Melanie’s legs, desire like nothing Melanie’s ever known before, like the first storm in years and it makes their hands clench around nothing, fingers aching to  _ touch.  _

“The ones we did today, yes.” Melanie says, clears their throat, “how did you know?”

Georgie shrugs, a tiny thing, almost involuntary, Melanie thinks they weren’t meant to see that, but they did anyway.

“They had,” Georgie begins, keeps her glass on the counter, and splays her fingers in the air, “they had an air about them, very similar to the air around you.” 

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed,” Melanie says, laughs, sits down next to Georgie, fearing their feet would be too unsteady in the wake of it all.

“I notice you,” Georgie says, a vehemence in it that Melanie didn’t know Georgie had, almost as if she’s offended by the notion that she wouldn’t notice Melanie, “I remember you.”

“I remember you as well.” Melanie says, stops, drums their fingers on the counter next to them both for want of something to do, “I wasn’t- the best company when we met last.”

“It’s alright.” Georgie says, soft, soft, her hand moving slowly towards Melanie, “you’re not obligated to be good company at all times.”   


Melanie laughs, “I’m not good company a lot of times but I don’t really care either.”

Georgie doesn’t say anything for a second, simply touches the tips of Melanie’s fingers with hers and Melanie thinks they could die like that, thinks that the only reason they’re still alive is to feel Georgie’s skin on them.

“Anger,” Georgie says finally, voice soft but not fearful, “your songs. They have– an underlying sort of anger to them that comes through in the way you sing them and the way you play. It’s nice.”

“Nice,” Melanie says, tastes the word in their mouth, “I don’t quite know what to do with that.”

“There’s a lot in this world to be angry about.” Georgie says, hesitates for a second, then places her hand on top of Melanie’s, “you suit it.”   


Melanie laughs, then, thinks of the time they broke a lamp because they felt they’d catch on fire if they didn’t, thinks of the time they didn’t leave their room for days because they didn’t quite know what to do with the shake in their hands, thinks of the day their father died, how they wanted to break everything that could break and more just because they didn’t quite know what to do with all that grief inside of them if they couldn’t shatter it, if they couldn’t will it away through sheer anger. Anger has come easy to them, in a way nothing else has, but they’re trying, now to make space for other things whatever is left of their heart. 

“I’m not quite sure whether to be offended or not.” Melanie says, turns their palm upwards and entangles their fingers in Georgie’s, the rightness of it all hitting them harder than a gut punch. 

“That's up to you,” Georgie hums, “but I didn’t say it to offend you.” 

“You’re beautiful.” Melanie says, the words seeming right in their mouth, righter than any other words they speak. 

Georgie smiles a bit, shy in a way she hasn’t been since the moment they started talking, she tucks an errant curl behind her ear, the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks and Melanie prays to a god they don’t believe in to never let them forget this moment.

“Thank you.” Says Georgie, voice slightly unsteady, like a wave hitting the rocks, “you’re extremely handsome.”

Melanie laughs, but they have tears in their eyes and they think, after all is said and done, when the funeral’s over and the most beautiful woman has clasped your hand, grief and joy taste the same in their mouth.

“Georgie, do you wanna get out of here?” Melanie asks, because despite it all, there is only so much anger they can take before it starts making them weary.

“Yes, I would.”

And so they do.

⸻

Melanie opens the door to their flat for Georgie, an air of anticipation clinging to both of them as Melanie enters after her. 

Georgie looks around, walks towards the middle of the room and for a split second Melanie thinks they could get used to this extremely easily, to Georgie in their flat, walking around as if it were her own, unafraid, as she seems to be in everything she does. 

“I like your books.” Georgie says, tracing a finger over Melanie’s bookshelf.

“Thank you.” Melanie says, throat a bit dry, “you wanna open a bottle of wine.”

Georgie smiles, all teeth and brightness, it makes Melanie’s heart clench, “yes, yes, I’d like that,”

⸺

They take the wine to the space next to the window in Melanie’s kitchen, Georgie insisting on the window being open and Melanie laughs, argues a bit, tells Georgie that her antics will kill them both, catches Georgie’s resultant smile with willing eyes and thinks they would gladly die if it were by Georgie’s hands. This, they do not say. 

Georgie holds a wine glass as if it is the only thing that her hands will ever hold, grace clinging to her every movement, and there is nothing but fire in the glint of her eyes, her eyes which don’t seem to miss anything, as they travel from Melanie’s face to London outside, her other hand tapping on the window pane and Melanie tries to decipher if there’s a rhythm to it, one they  _ can  _ decipher or if it’s what Melanie’s own heart is going to beat to from now own, the tune of Georgie’s fingers on their windowpane, the only reason they need.

Sitting like this, the dim light of the room falling on Georgie’s face just so, she seems as if something unreal, as if borne out of the pages of a book too good to be true, and yet she sits, opposite Melanie, her mouth twisted in a smile that seems to be too knowing, hand wrapped around Melanie’s glass and if Melanie spent their whole life watching Georgie, it would be a life worth living. 

“You’re staring.” Georgie says, finally, her tone teasing, she leans forward, just slightly, the silver of her pendant dangling from her neck, glinting with the shine of something old.

“Can you blame me,” Melanie says, leaning forward as well, mirroring Georgie’s movements and the air seems to hum with it, everything Melanie didn’t know they could still feel, with everything Melanie doesn’t know how to say it. 

Georgie laughs, “I gave you my number.”

“When?”

“When we first met. I didn’t think you were gonna message me. I was hoping you would, of course.”

“Why didn’t you text me?”

Georgie hums, takes a sip of her wine, “I’m not quite sure. Jon did give me your number. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“Take what? I can handle a text, you know.”   


“You can handle a lot,” Georgie says, in a way that makes Melanie swallow through the sudden lump in their throat, makes them think that Georgie can see through everything they spent years trying to build up. Maybe she can, Melanie thinks, with the way she looks at them, like they’re the only thing to ever matter to her, like they’re the only thing to ever matter.

“You shouldn’t have to handle a lot,” Georgie continues, eyes brighter than anything should have a right to be and it goes to Melanie’s gut harsh as longing.

“Well,” Melanie says, voice only slightly wavering, “nobody should, I suppose.”

Georgie hums, looks away for a second and Melanie catches the wispy moonlight falling on her hair, making her look ghostly and Melanie if touching Georgie would break them.

“Melanie, do you wanna dance with me?” Georgie says, suddenly, voice steady, nothing but conviction in her eyes.

Melanie says yes, they don’t think they could have said anything else.

They play an old playlist on their phone, Doris Day’s voice ringing out, sweet as honey and they offer their hand to Georgie, who laughs and takes it and Melanie could die with it, they think, with Georgie’s hand in theirs and that death would mean something.

Georgie’s arms come up to wrap around their shoulders, her head resting on their shoulder, Melanie thinks their heart beats only for her, in this moment and every other come. They wrap their arms around her waist and the hitch in her breath goes straight to their heart, sharp as a blade. 

“When did you come out?” Georgie murmurs, “if that’s okay to ask?”

“I came out as a lesbian when I was 16 and I came out as nonbinary when I was 25. It’s been a ride. What about you?”

“I came out as bi and trans when I was in uni with Jon. It feels like ages ago.”   


Melanie hums, says, “I don’t know how to do this.”

They feel Georgie’s smile on their shoulder, feel it stay there like a brand. When they first met her, Melanie had thought her too bright for them, had been terrified of what she could to do to them if they let her, they’re terrified now as well, with Georgie in their arms smiling into their shoulder as if they’re the reason for it and everything feels just slightly more doable now.

“Neither do I,” says Georgie, lifting her head to look at Melanie, “you don’t have to go it alone, you know.” She says, the kind of casualty in her voice that makes the ground beneath Melanie shake.

Melanie thinks,  _ I could love you till the world ends and after, if you let me.  _ They say, “you’re beautiful.”

Georgie laughs, and Melanie thinks of the way Georgie fits the entire world in her mouth when she laughs and thinks of how her hands are rough and gentle, thinks of every moment they thought of her after the first time they saw her.  Somewhere in their flat,  _ aimless, wandering, wide-eyed, I was bound to love again,  _ rings out and Melanie almost laughs. Georgie looks up at them, the lilt of her mouth knowing.

“Kiss me.” She says, a demand, a request, a question. Melanie does. 

_ This,  _ Melanie thinks, body as if floating with the euphoria of it all, as  _ darling, hazel eyed mountain song, my soul longs for you,  _ spreads through their float,  _ this,  _ Melanie thinks, thoughts as if broken fragments of the feeling of Georgie’s lips on theirs humming around their brain,  _ this _ is worth living for. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the tile is from twin size mattress by the front bottoms and the lyric at the end of the fic are from wide eyed by cold weather company.
> 
> thank u for reading!!! if u enjoyed, pls leave a comment or kudos if u feel like it!!!


End file.
